My family and I had just recently moved into a mansion, but not as owners, instead as residents of a larger residing community. It was the end of the world, and mutants were attacking. In the midst of the attack I made my way to the kitchen to quickly wash my hands, but in a tragic accident a soap spud would fly outwards from the sink, landing in a small container of pudding next to the counter.
That was it. I was ordered to immediately see the Queen of England for my crimes. The pudding had been hers, and my actions were punishable by death—which happened to be the exact sentence she would rule for me.